


There's an off setting for camera flashes, dumbass

by Jesanndei



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Artist!Gerard - Freeform, College student!Frank, M/M, My First Fanfic, bountiful cursing up ahead though, frankie's a physical therapist student, gee's pretty damn successful, no smut though, so yey, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4232982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jesanndei/pseuds/Jesanndei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on a tumblr prompts post I saw: i went out to throw the garbage in the most unflattering clothes and there was a flash and for a good five minutes i was trying to fight you bc i thought you were gonna make fun of me but it turns out you found a pretty butterfly near where i was </p><p>  <em>***i may or may not have gone off a tangent and a half with it though. haha</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	There's an off setting for camera flashes, dumbass

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: so i pretty much found this adorable prompt from tumblr and said why not make a short and akward meet-not-so-cute thing for my first ever fic? But then when i got started on writing it, i then realized my head just works too elaborately. Definitely delved a little deeper into storyline and characterization than what i’d planned, so yeah. 
> 
> I take full responsibility for my lacking and not-so-competent grammar skills, misspellings, and overall “horrible-ness” (from plot, setting, story flow, etc.). Don’t have a beta, and probably never will bec i lack social skills (for someone who'd blabber nonstop) to ask for help. Haha.

    Frank’s start of the week couldn’t get any worse. His car heater’s acting up like a bitch and it just so happens to be 4 A.M. He’s cold, he’s sore and he’ll probably curl up on the floor by the time he reaches home.

 _Fuck being a physical therapist. Fucking college and fucking demented clinical instructors. Fucking lazy ass orthopedic-rehab in-patients (read as: old suburban ladies with sticks up their asses who happen to have broken their weak ass bones ~~; probably from gossiping and baking too much~~ ) who’re hypocrites and uncooperative as fuck._ And he’s definitely not gonna forget the demerit he got from his C.I. just ‘cause of one patient who refused to have him as her therapist because she's scared Frank might get “fresh” with her. _WHAT THE FUCK? Totally not cool and totally **not into old ladies**._  It all just piled on top of a weekend graveyard shift that he never asked for (and never deserved) at the university hospital, and to say Frank’s not pleased is an understatement. He’s probably beyond loath and despair right now.

    Why couldn’t they just put him up in the sports-rehab area with all the hot athletes on a fucking weekday afternoon shift? Ok, so maybe he wants to feel the give of muscles (preferably of a man) in his hands, _but nothing beyond regular reflex exercises...er, otherwise that'd be sexual harassment_. He swears whoever assigned the internship program hated him.

    With the last of his energy he drives himself home and parks on the driveway. Sprinting to the door is critical, he isn’t gonna risk it. Cold weather and shitty immune system do not go well together and never will be a good combo in Frank’s dictionary, regardless of how many layers of clothing he’s wearing. When the door's firmly shut and locked, he walks/drags himself to the living room and strips down until he’s only in his scrub suit (which should have been washed two days ago, but Frank likes to think he’s being good at reusing for saving-the-planet shit and his co-interns don’t seem to mind; no one said anything about it to him).

    There was a bad smell he could detect but he can't focus his attention to it. _Might be me, actually..._   _dealing with sickly patients and all, but nah_. And there goes his hygiene. The apartment’s a total mess but he pays no heed ‘cause his head feels far more messy and disorganized, and it just keeps chanting _Sleep, sleep, sleeeeeep_. And he agrees with himself, _Sleep does sound good_.

    He needs to do his thing first though before his brain shuts off. No matter how tired he is he automatically launches off into filtering the next day’s schedule and to-do-list. Frank’s not sure when or how it became a thing, but he’s grateful as fuck. He guesses it’s the only thing that’s keeping him alive and in control of himself. And so technically, the rest of his Monday is tame.

    He has to wake up on time before 9 A.M. for his volunteer-work at a child-care clinic (that pays him generously; _tysm Dr. Martha_ , a living angel on earth) and end his shift at 3 P.M. with that day’s salary to set aside for his college tuition payment. Frank then needs to get back home and spend his time studying before leaving for college to take an exam on medical and surgical conditions (not the easiest subject, but he’ll make it work) at exactly 7 P.M.. And then after exams, he’ll grab a quick dinner and dive right **back to hell: the graveyard shift** from 9 P.M. to 3 A.M.

 _I’ve got this,_ he thinks before slipping off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

    Gerard finds himself on a typical day where life’s on a positive note and shockingly waking up earlier than normal. _6 A.M. huh?_ It’s not like he’s keeping to a schedule though. He sleeps and wakes as he pleases, as long as he gets his work done. Who would’ve thought the weird artsy kid during high school who then graduates with a Bachelor of Fine Arts would end up pretty damn successful? Not Van Gogh “successful” or social media’s publicized-artist “successful”, but rather successful enough that he has loyal patrons and commissions to live by. Damn, not living on the streets (or worse, forever in his mom’s basement; he maybe shudders a teeny bit) is enough of a success story for him.

   He’s happy he can pay for the roof over his head, food (no matter how unhealthy his choices are most of the time) and the growing bulk of comic books and collector’s edition action figures in his guest room (read as: a room where Gerard dumps too much stuff he hoards and can’t let go).       

    He's sure he's happy. On Maslow’s hierarchy of needs he knows he’s met the second level of safety and security. But it doesn't feel complete, not quite yet.  _What might be missing? Oh, wait_  he knows. Maslow’s next level was love and belonging. “Fuck” he said out loud with a croak, harsh and unused, aside from talking to Mikey, of course.

    He breathes and clears his thoughts. That’s why Gerard usually hates mornings, he’s too vulnerable to sober epiphanies (which feels more real, or for the most part more painful, than being drunk or high) that feel a tad bit close to his heart.  He guesses a part of himself is looking for love and settling down in the future. It's more than what he allows himself to dream (dare, even to have). He’s gone against it for a long time. He really likes the world he built for himself. Like a wall, a safe place, probably why he’s so scared.

    So maybe he stares too long at the little orchid plant hanging by his window. The little gal's name was Vanya.

_Ha, I named a flower. It's a pretty damn exotic name for an exotic flower._

    An hour of stillness goes by, and he’s just ready to get outside (alarmingly unusual) and take his pro camera out for a spin. He reasons with himself he’s going out not to escape his thoughts, but to play around with his new toy. _Really._   

    And he might have passed by the window to say good morning to Vanya. 

* * *

 

   Frank's phone shrills with the nyan cat song (Toro thought it would be funny) as his alarm. He might have smacked his phone a little harder in the process. _Shit. Still 7 A.M._ _Too late to go back to sleep now._ He has two hours to go before he needs to be at the clinic but he can't go back to sleep. It sucks.

   But what sucks more, is what he feels at the bottom of his chest and the horrible pounding in his head. He knows it too damn well.

   So he heads to the kitchen to make himself tea and hope to whatever deity that Nyquil could keep him fine for the rest of the day. He drinks down his tea and med on one go. It instantly relieves his chest and sinus, _thank God_. He takes a deep breath. And...

   Frank's kitchen is smelling pretty rank. Like rotting flesh (but he's vegetarian, so more like rotting vegetables) and smelly-sewage. His garbage apparently multiplied in number and alarmingly smelt worse while he was too busy to throw it away. But he has time right now, he can't be lazy forever. _  
_

   He's sure he'll get more sick with the cold weather outside, so he picks up the closest warm clothing he can find. _A poncho? The fuck._ But he goes with it. He feels too sick to care about looking shitty. No one's probably going to see him anyway.  

   With one full trash bag on his hands he makes his way out of the door. 

 

* * *

 

   If Gerard could just find out how to zoom in or out he'd have a picture of the bulldog walking across the street. 

   He gets to zoom in eventually, but it's too late. The pup's at the end of the block. He's been sitting on his grassy lawn for about fifteen minutes now (result: ice cold ass) looking for a good photo subject (flowers are pretty and all, but they're pretty damn stationary) and that dog was the first sign of activity in the neighborhood. 

   Then something colorful catches his eyes.  _It's a pretty little butterfly..._ and Gerard was determined to take a picture of it. It won't stay still though, so Gerard has to be quick, stealthy and mobile. He hears his neighbor's door open, but he couldn't care less.

   While Frank on the other hand is huffing and puffing just to get the damn trash bag across the driveway. For a healthy individual walking to the garbage bin in front of the house is a mindless task, but with Frank's body it's like walking a mile to war. He finally opens it and shoves the whole bag in.

_***FLASH*** _

_Hey that looked great!_ Gerard beams and checks the pic again on his camera. 

    Frank stays dazed for a while before his brain processes what happened. _Somebody took a fucking photo of me._ He turns around to find the suspect, a rather unsuspecting guy with firetruck red hair. Frank would say he's probably his type, hot even. _Would bang._ His brain added. But did hot guy just take a photo of him for a good laugh? Frank wants a fight. 

    "Hey, you! Red hair guy!"

     Gerard looks up to see a very pretty (but rather short) guy in the most unflattering scrub suit. _And is that a poncho?_ He smiles at him.  

     "Did you just take a photo of me?" Frank asks.

     "Uh, no?" Hot guy answers. It sounded pretty unsure though and Frank just lost his cool.

     "Oh, fuck no. Don't even lie. You think you could take a photo of me for a good laugh, huh? HUH? WELL, FUCK YOU. You could've been stealthier than that you know, 'cause there's an off-setting for flashes, dumbass! I do look like shit, but that doesn't mean you can find it funny!"

     "I didn't, fuck. I-I swear..." Gerard's scared. He knows he didn't do anything wrong. 

     "You think I look like crap, huh? You'd probably post that on the net or something. Or maybe you'd fucking show it your friends!" Frank's fuming, he knows he's going overboard, but what the fuck. Being the laughing stock when he looked like shit is the last straw. _And it fucking snapped already. "_ It's not funn-"

 _"_ NO-No No No-NO! Wait I was just taking a picture of a butterfly, man!" Gerard interrupts. _Okay, so angry dude's stomping his fucking feet. THAT'S CUTE._

"FUCKING PROVE IT THEN." Frank know's his face is as red as a tomato. He needs to calm down and stop embarrassing himself in front of someone (who's really hot now that he had a good look) he doesn't know, but his adrenaline's still not wearing off.

      "Come on lo-look" Gerard hands over his camera and Frank does check it out. _IT IS A PRETTY BUTTERFLY, but I look like shit in the background._

      So Frank laughs (a crazy sounding kind of laugh). "You fucking did take a pic of a butterfly, man. SHIT!" His eyes start watering from laughing too hard, the anger's all washed away now, but he's feeling something new.

      "Uh yeah, I did" was all Gerard could answer. The red-head stands there awkwardly next to Frank deciding should he laugh as well. 

      "But fuck, I look horrible in the background! I look awful. Oh my god. Oh my fucking god, I'm fucking crying." Aaaaaand...Frank's bawling his eyes out. Like real tears of despair. **_Manly fucking tears._**

      "Are you okay? Should I get you something?" Gerard asks and Frank doesn't respond. "U-um, I'm Gerard. Hey!" He says louder.

      "Oh shit, I'm sorry for being an a-asshole." Frank's reply was barely audible though. He kept sniffling,  wheezing and coughing. "I'm Frank. God I feel awful for just lashing out, uh...Ge-Gerard." Frank's not the confrontational type but he fucking did it in the early morning. He needed to sit down...and he did sit down on the pavement.

      "Uh, you got me scared...but it's okay. Uh--uuum Frank, are you okay?" Gerard kneels down on the pavement with his hands hovering over (not quite touching) Frank's shoulder. 

      "NO." Frank whines and he buries his face deeper to his knees. _Okay, I sounded like a kid that lost a toy or something. This is getting out of hand._

      "What's wrong?...Not that you should answer. It's not my concern or something..Er-" Gerard's not usually up to socializing (nor is he the comforting type), but he feels drawn it to help this guy out and know what's bugging the hell out of him. "Um, is it my fault? 'Cause I can delete, you see-"

      "No! It's not you. Or maybe you are part of it. But not the only reason. I can't bear being a laughing stock in my disposition right now, a-and I thought you were doing just that. Aw shit, but you weren't. Sorry. I've been thrown every kind of shit today..a-and God, I feel so tired and exhausted and shitty, I have the worst immune system in the whole entire world and I know I'm sick right the fuck now but I have to leave at nine for work, then I have fu-fucking classes in the eveni-"

      "Okay, okay...take it slow. Breathe in..." Gerard instructs and Frank follows. "...Then breathe out." They probably look like some weirdos on the street to anybody else in the neighborhood, but Gee's particularly not giving a fuck (read as: he's too intent to know and "comfort" his very attractive neighbor).

       They go on for a few more breathes and wiping a few more tears, then Gerard pulls Frank up and walks him over to sit on his porch.

       Then Gerard starts talking again once Frank's finally calm. "Uh hey, um if you don't mind. You look like you work in a hospital, yes?" Frank replies "Student intern actually", so Gerard continues. "Um, I know it's stressful and all, studying and you have a side-job?" Frank nods. "Uh all you said about looking like crap, um, how do I say this...uh you look pretty fine to me" Gerard blurts out, and shit wasn't that an awkward statement. But Frank turns beet red. 

       "Did you just flirt with me?" Frank giggles. 

       "Oh shit, um...I might have had? If that's okay with you..?" Gerard answers, unsure. 

       "Yeah." Frank smiles, and Gerard decides he likes that smile a little bit too much. "God, five minutes ago I was yelling the hell out at you and now we're flirting. What has the world been up to?" Frank continues. 

       "The world's done me good today, I think. Albeit explosive in the morning, but great." Gerard smiles back at Frank. They stare at each other like that for a while. _Grinning like idiots_.

       "Uh, so yeah, proper introductions this time. I'm Gerard Way, I live uh here. Where we're siting.." Frank laughs a little, but let's Gerard continue "Um, I'm an artist, if that's valuable info..."He reaches his hand out for a shake and Frank reaches for it. 

       "Ah, I'm Frank Iero, I'm a graduating physical therapy student and I do part-time at the local children's clinic a couple blocks away. I could be a total ass like a while ago, but I'm definitely feeling sorry now." Frank shakes their hands, and might have not let go quickly. 

       "I said it's oka-"

       "Wait! What time is it?"

       Gerard looks to his watch. "8:45?"

        "Oh shit! I'm gonna be late!" Frank stands up and almost runs back home, but he turns around. "Um, see you around? I'm totally not ditching you or anythi-". Oh god, he's nervous. _Why are you such a teenage girl, Frankie?_

       "Yeah, definitely! I actually know where that clinic you're going to for work...so if you don't find it too fast, would you want me to pick you up for coffee later after work?"

       "Oh my god, yes! Pick me up at 3:30" _Who cares about reviewing for an exam when you've got a date with a hot guy?_   Frank rushes back to Gerard and gives him a kiss on the cheek, leaving the red-head dumbstruck. "See ya, Gee!" 

        So Gerard and Frank actually felt a whole lot better after that whole mess of a first meeting. Gerard's melancholic vibe was shot down and Frank's actually feeling good about himself that he thinks it's gonna last for the rest of day (or for the week even!). 

        Now Frank's only problem is how he's gonna get to work on time and Gerard's already planning to call Mikey and tell him about his morning. 

     

**Author's Note:**

> if you actually read my fic until the end. ILY. TYSM. at least someone stuck with me to the end.
> 
> _winks_
> 
>  haha. bye.


End file.
